


Fall

by AbsinthexMind



Series: Moon of my life [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Beating, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Drunkenness, Escape, Execution, F/M, Forced Marriage, Grief/Mourning, Grieving, Implied Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Incest, Letters, Physical Abuse, Reader-Insert, Red Wedding, Regret, Separations, Sibling Incest, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, slight Bronn/Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 20:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12140925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsinthexMind/pseuds/AbsinthexMind
Summary: You were all alone in King’s Landing as your sisters bickered amongst each other daily and your father unknowningly made enemies all around him. You spent your days dreaming of Jon, hoping that maybe he was doing the same.





	1. Part One

You had that dream again. The wolf dream that always felt so real. The metallic taste of blood still lingered on your tongue and oddly made your stomach rumble with hunger. When you reached for the other side of your bed you half expected to come into contact with soft fur. Only feeling your bed sheet you open your eyes remembering all the terrible events that had happened on your way to King’s Landing. Storm was gone as was Nymeria and Lady was killed. They had to leave. That little prat Joffrey would have had all three of their heads if it were possible. Instead he had to be satisfied with the death of Sansa’s precious Lady. when you and Arya had to get rid of your direwolves you looked into Storm’s eyes. There was something that passed between the two of you, an understanding. She took off quickly. It wasn’t as easy with Nymeria. You and your sister had to throw rocks at her because she wouldn’t follow Storm’s example.  


Now you were all alone in King’s Landing as your sisters bickered amongst each other daily. You had tried many times to keep the peace, but after the death of Lady they blamed one another and drowned out your voice. Not even Septa Mordane could quash their anger.  


Rubbing your eyes you climb out of bed and get ready, not even bothering to wait for your hand maids. You preferred to do things yourself. Even though you had brought your own hand maids from Winterfell you had grown more private, feeling exposed and vulnerable without Storm and. . . without Jon. Many times you had wanted to write to a letter to him at the Wall, but eventually decided against it. It wouldn’t be a good idea. He was a Sworn Brother now. You couldn’t just write to him about the intense longing that plagued you. Late at night you would replay your first time with Jon while your hands roamed over your body, trying to imagine that they belonged to Jon. King’s Landing had made you feel lonely even though you had your sisters and father. You were unnerved daily as you soon realized what a corrupt cesspool King’s Landing actually was. You feared for your father, even you could see that he was quickly making enemies. He even butted heads with the king himself every so often. Tension thickened the air in the Red Keep and it made you incredibly anxious. You had to stay strong though, for your family. That was why you were there, to offer your father a peace of mind.  


You look yourself over in your mirror and practice a smile before going to breakfast. At least in the tower of the King’s Hand you didn’t have to be around Lannister guards and even worse, the Lannisters themselves. Joffrey continued to have Sansa wrapped around his finger despite what he had had done to Lady. Your sister tried to defend his actions almost to near looking pathetic. She was blinded by her juvenile love for Joffrey and the want of being his perfect queen.  


When you make your entrance your father smiles up at you. Ned Stark had aged rather quickly in the few months since you arrived.  


“Good morning (y/n).” Ned motions for the servants to get you a plate and fill your cup.  


You sit next to him and give your morning greetings. Arya and Sansa are already giving each other nasty glares, you wondered what they had fought about this time.  


Sansa turns her pretty Tully blue eyes in your direction and smiles. “The queen has invited both of us to have lunch with her this evening. You will come, won’t you?”  


You and your father share a brief glance as you chew in contemplation. “I’ll have to think about it.”  


Her face falls instantaneously. “What’s there to think about? It’s a great honor to be invited by the queen.”  


“Maybe because (y/n) knows what a terrible person Cersei is.” Arya mutters, her dark eyes glaring.  


Utensils falling with a loud clang, Sansa stares wide-eyed at her younger sister.  


“Arya don’t say that.” It was useless to say it though. The damage had been done.  


Sansa leaps from her seat. “You always ruin everything!” She shrieks then dashes from the hall. Septa Mordane chasing after her.  


“Arya, you need to learn how to hold your tongue.”  


“But-”  


You shake your head and lower your voice to a whisper. “I know. Believe me I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that Cersei Lannister is the Queen of Westeros. We are in her domain.”  


Arya too leaves the table. “I hate it here!”  


Your father sighs and leans back in his chair. You didn’t blame him for losing his appetite.  


“I hope I never have two girls. They seem even more troublesome than boys.” Making a comment you hope it would bring a smile on your father’s face.  


It did, although it was a tired one. “No, I hope you do. Sansa and Arya are only at one another’s throats because they don’t know any other way to express their feelings. A lot has happened, terrible things. They are young.”  


All of you had suffered. You stare down at your plate, thinking of Storm; the intelligence in her sunburst eyes. She’d always been smart. Even as a mischievous puppy. Direwolves were no ordinary animal. Some times it seemed like they understood people, like they had a human mind.  


A hand gently lays itself on your shoulder. “If I had known what would happen. . . I’m sorry. Maybe the safest place for you girls was Winterfell.”  


Putting a comforting hand on top of his you give it a gentle squeeze. “No place is ever truly safe.” Then you smile to yourself. “Winter is coming.”  


“Yes. Winter is coming.”  


You lean over to kiss his cheek. “Please be careful today.”  


“Where are you going?”  


“To try and quell the feud between my sisters. We should not be bickering amongst each other here. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. We need to stick together now more than ever.”  


Ned Stark beams at you with such pride. There was no Tully in you, you were purely a Stark with ice in your veins and the direwolf at your back.  


You decided to try Arya first. At this moment she was more reasonable. When she saw it was you she quickly let you in and closed the door. She was quiet, knowing that you might give her a lecture. Needle, the slim sword that Jon had given her, was on her bed for all eyes to see. You didn’t know how your father would react to her having a sword. Then again, he should be used to another daughter wanting to learn how to fight. Not like your mother.  


“It’s a shame you didn’t get to learn how to fight from Ser Rodrik.” You pick up the sword and balance the blade on your palm. It was perfect for her. Skinny and resilient. Just like Arya.  


“Will you teach me?” she eagerly asks.  


You weren’t opposed to the idea of Arya learning how to defend herself, but you were uncomfortable with the idea of teaching her yourself. If you didn’t teach her correctly she could get hurt. “I’m no teacher.”  


“Oh please (y/n)! There’s no one else!” Arya begs. “I’ll listen to whatever you say!”  


“It’s been so long, Arya. I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice.”  


“We can practice together. I watched you when you’d spar with the boys. You were good (y/n)!”  


Down at the blade you find Mikken’s mark. You run your fingers over it and long for home. This was Jon’s goodbye present to Arya. He had given you a different type of sword for your goodbye present. You remembered after the first time there was a second and then a third. His engorged, hot, sword impaling the flesh between your legs over and over again sending you into blinding spasms that left you trembling in its aftershocks.  


“(y/n)?” Arya snaps you out of your thoughts.  


“If you behave” you start, watching her face light up “and try your best to get along with Sansa, I’ll think about it.”  


Her face scrunches up.  


“Don’t make that face. She’s your sister too. Yes she’s naive, but she’s in love. Eventually she’ll learn. She’ll see what a terrible person the queen and Joffrey are.”  


“So you do agree!’  


“Of course I do, but I’m not going to go around saying it out loud. That’s how people lose their heads. Even if we are the daughters of the King’s Hand that doesn’t make us impervious.” You feared for your family. You feared for your family. You wouldn’t let Arya know that. She already hated this place as it is. “Father needs us all to get along. He has enough worries as it is. So please try and get along with Sansa. Even when she says stupid things.”  


That prompts a giggle from Arya. “If I try, you’ll think about practicing with me?”  


“Yes. And I’ll even talk to father about getting you a real sword instructor.”  


Arya exhales, looking at Needle. “Okay. I’ll try.”  


“Thank you.” You ruffle her hair like jon used to do and stand to leave.  


“(y/n)?”  


“Yes?”  


At that moment she looks her age. A sad little girl sitting on her bed. “I miss Nymeria. Do you. . . Do you think we did the right thing?”  


“They would’ve been killed along with Lady. Joffrey would have never allowed both of them to live. To them they’re nothing but savage animals.” Storm had been your other half. You feel tears prick at your eyes remembering when she was small enough to fit in your arms. Her dark gray fur in contrast to Ghost’s pure white as they played. In that dark, abandoned tower the only thing that could tear your lips off of Jon’s was watching Storm and Ghost at play while laughing at their antics.  


Arya’s eyes redden as she too held back tears. “Do you think we’ll ever see them again? And that they’ll remember us?”  


You didn’t want to give her false hope, but you didn’t want to be cruel either. “I hope so.

  
  
  
  
  


Next was Sansa. You had to hype yourself up for her. For the longest time she had looked up to you when she was little. That was before you started to want to pick up a sword and learn how to fight. No matter what, you were still a lady. You had been taught by the same septa as Sansa. You knew your sister had been a little disappointed at the sight of you holding a sword though.

 _’Can’t I still be a lady and know how to fight?’_

Apparently not to Sansa. If it would help your cause you’d even relent to joining her and Cersei for lunch. 

After asking one of the guards you were given directions outside where Sansa liked to bask in the sun. The sun was never so radiant in Winterfell. Sansa loved everything about King’s Landing because everything was so perfect. You doubted that she had been anywhere near Flea Bottom though or any other part of the city besides Aegon’s High Hill. 

“Lady (y/n).” Septa Mordane greets you. 

Sansa lifts her eyes up from her embroidery, eyes still and holding a bit of caution. 

“I thought about it and I’ve decided to join you and Queen Cersei for lunch.” 

That brought warmth back into her arctic eyes. “Really?” 

“Like you said, it’s an honor to be invited by the queen herself.” 

“What about what Arya said?” There’ suspicion in her tone. 

You sit next to her and clasp her hands. “Don’t be mad at Arya, Sansa. A lot of bad things have happened.” 

“But she said-” 

Quickly you interject. “I know what she said. I was there. Of course she blames the queen and Joffrey for everything that has happened. It was them who had Lady executed after all.” 

Anger flared on her pale cheeks. “But it was Arya’s fault!” 

Giving her a cross look deflates her a bit. She knew better than to tempt the Snarling She-Wolf. “Don’t be a child Sansa. It wasn’t Arya’s fault.” You wouldn’t say out loud that it was Joffrey’s. Who knew what she might tell the queen and her son behind your back. “Regardless of whose fault it was, Arya still shouldn’t have said that. I’ve already spoken with her. Please try to not butt heads with her. It stresses out father and he doesn’t need more stress.” 

Sansa struggles not to argue back. She was a lady. Ladies did not argue. Stiffly she nods her head. 

Finger and thumb gently coax her head up. “Come on now. We’re having lunch with the queen today. I’m sure she’ll have lemon cakes too.” 

Sansa perks up at the mention of her favorite sweet. “Don’t forget to put on your best gown.” 

“Of course.” You smile. At least it would offer you some distraction. You had found yourself spending most days missing Storm and the other members of your family; specifically Robb and Jon. Robb had sent you many ravens, revealing how much he had missed you too. Some of them were small that didn’t have anything serious, just Robb missing you. Bran was awake but couldn’t remember what had happened and was left crippled. Others held more ominous details. How your mother had taken Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner. Your twin even told you that he would be going off to battle soon. Chaos quaked in Westeros and your family was scattered in the wind. 

_The lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

You would pray for them, to whatever gods would listen.


	2. Part Two

You find it difficult to catch your breath. Bodice constricting any attempt to hyperventilate. Sansa begs Prince- no- King Joffrey for your father’s life to no avail. Eddard Stark has been sentenced to death for the crime of treason against the king. 

_‘Stay composed (y/n). . . don’t let them see you break. . .’_ You tried to tell yourself but every inch of you was shaking. _’Be strong for Sansa.’_ Tears blinded you and made your resolve tremble when you see your father’s own sword Ice brought out. He didn’t deserve to die, especially not by his own sword. He was too good of a man for such a fate. It was too much for you. Screaming you lunge yourself forward but Ser Meryn Trant holds you back by twisting your arms. 

He whispers cruelly in your ear. “No one to keep you safe now, sweet lady.” 

Blood. You wanted blood. You wanted to rip them all limb from limb and feel the warmth of their blood on your tongue. You wanted to tear Ilyn Payne’s arm from it’s socket and free your father. But all you tasted at that moment was bile and tears as your father’s head rolled onto the ground. 

You weren’t a direwolf. 

You were just a frightened girl. 

Now you and your sister were vulnerable. You were grateful that at least Arya had gotten away. At least that’s what you hoped. Before your father had been arrested she had been with her sword teacher Syrio Forel. You hadn’t heard anything else of your youngest sister but if you knew anything about Arya Underfoot it would be that she always got away from sticky situations. She was a fighter. You had to keep telling yourself that she was okay. 

Ser Meryn’s fingers dug deeper into your arms as the crowed ruthlessly cheered. You wanted to kill them all and see their entrails splatter on the ground.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Branches crunched under your paws as you continued to weave through the trees. You didn’t understand the feeling of distress that pushed you forward. You had nothing to fear in this form. It was others who should be afraid of your presence. 

The trees thinned out until you met up with a hill of sorts that overlooked the sprawling land that met up with the water that appeared black as ink in the night. 

It was. . . You were looking out at King’s Landing. Head tilting upward, a howl vibrates from your throat. 

Your ‘human’ eyes snap open immediately. Sansa lay besides you, still asleep although rest couldn’t cure the permanent fatigue that plagued the both of you after Ned Stark’s execution. 

Unlike your dream, you were still in the city. You no longer had four strong paws, but small, fleshy, hands. Curling your fingers inward toward your palm, the pads of them brush against the crescent shaped scars that you opened up daily with your nails. Without Ned, you and your sister were left to the lions. You were completely at their mercy, which they lacked. There was absolutely no one you could trust so you had Sansa take up residence in your room to protect her. Like hell you would leave her to fend for herself. Not with Joffrey as king. 

You bite down on your lip, stopping a hiss from escaping. The bruise on your ribs was still incredibly tender from the beating you had received in Sansa’s place. Some days it would work, your plea to be a substitution. You had to protect her somehow and if that meant taking her beatings then so be it. Meryn Trant got great pleasure out of it, eying you in that twisted way that only he could manage. Let him. If it came to rape then you’d take it if it spared Sansa. You were her big sister. You were in charge now of taking care of the only younger sister that remained. 

“You’re awake.” You murmur while fighting the pain as you layed on your side with the bruise. 

Sansa moves closer to you until her face is buried in your chest. Her body trembles. You hold onto her, reassuring her that she was safe in your arms. “We’ll get through this.” You whisper against her auburn hair that reminded you so much of your mother. When you were children you remembered holding Robb in the same fashion when he’d have a nightmare. Even though he was the oldest by a few minutes he required more comforting. He’d always insist that you sing him back to sleep no matter how tired you were. 

It was the same thing Sansa requested. “C-Can you sing to me? Please?” 

You nod and quietly sing her the song Robb always asked you to sing on sleepless nights. 

As you sang you felt her head gradually grow heavy with sleep. You continued to sing long after she was asleep. There was no one to sing you to sleep, you didn’t care though. You’d be on watch for the rest of the night. You didn’t want to risk having another wolf dream. They were far too cruel. Instead thoughts of killing Joffrey and his wretched mother kept you company through the night.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
*   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There were so many emotions ripping Jon apart. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry. He just wanted to allow himself the leisure of breaking. He shouldn’t have cared so much. He was a Black Brother now, sworn to protect the Wall and not to get involved in the situations of the realm. Above all though he was still human. An oath could not change the fact that he was Ned Stark’s son. Bastard her was, but son nonetheless. 

_’(y/n). . .’_ She had been in King’s Landing with their father. What would happen to her now that their father was dead? She was still there with his other sisters. What would Joffrey do to her, to them? He could only think up the worse scenarios possible. His grief over his father was replaced by the urge to go and save her. Jon would join his brother robb to go save (y/n) from King’s Landing . Even if it meant being labeled as a deserter. He could never even think of forsaking (y/n). Jon could never give her up. Much like he could never forget the night they spent together. She was too precious to him. 

With Ghost trailing after him and Samwell Tarly shouting about how he’d be seen as a deserter, an oath breaker, Jon left Castle Black behind him to hurry to Riverrun where his brother’s army was gathered. 

Leaving his sworn brothers was not as easy as he thought. They came chasing after him with resolve to bring him back lest the commander finds them all gone only assuming that they had broken their vows and deserted the Wall. Jon put up both a physical and verbal fight. They didn’t understand. He loved (y/n). He had to do whatever in his power to see her safely returned to Winterfell or to her twin brother. The first vow he ever made was to (y/n). Those vows held superiority. But they were relentless as they swarmed him, repeating the vows that all of them had taken together. Each word took a bite out of Jon’s convictions. Surely they would understand if they had ever loved someone as much as he loved (y/n); even if she was his sister. 

They broke Jon with their doggedness. Vows were vows. He made a promise that he should uphold. He clenched his burned hand so the pain would keep his anger at bay. 

_’I’m sorry (y/n). . .’_ In the end he was truly Lord Eddard Stark’s son and had to keep his words. He just hoped that Robb would be enough to get her back. Surely he wouldn’t let his beloved twin remain a captive of the Lannisters. 

“It’ll be okay Jon.” Grenn claps him on the shoulder. “The King of the North will take care of things.” 

“Even if he doesn’t it’s none of our concerns.” 

They didn’t understand. Jon bit down on his chapped lips and looks over to Ghost who sat still as the others were beginning to head back to Castle Black. 

“Come on Ghost.” 

Red eyes stare at him unblinking and unmoving. 

“To me Ghost.” 

Ghost looks over his shoulder at the empty road ahead that would’ve taken them to Robb’s army. 

“To me!” 

Reluctantly the direwolf sulks and trots to Jon’s side. Ghost wanted to go save (y/n) too. He had to convince himself that she would be okay. (y/n) was the Snarling She-Wolf after all. And she still had Storm to guard her. . . right?   
  
  
  
  
  
*   
  
  
  
  
  


“Sansa, go to the room.” You whisper urgently under your breath when you spotted Joffrey and his King’s Guard rounding the corner. If Sansa ran she could make it back to your room before Joffrey noticed. 

Her eyes, red from crying so much, stared at you. “(y/n). . .” 

“Go.” You shoot her a look that meant this was non-negotiable. She still had bruises healing from the last time Joffrey let his pets ‘play’ with her. You had your own wounds but you were much sturdier than your lady sister. They couldn’t truly hurt you. During the times they laid harmful hands on you, you transported yourself to a different, stronger, body. One with four legs instead of two and vicious teeth that could rip out someone’s throat. 

Sansa stumbled on her feet as she backed away then began to run in the opposite direction. An involuntary tremor makes you shiver as you look back and see that Joffrey has spotted you and is now smirking with wicked intent. 

“Stark Bitch.” he spits out. “Where’s your sister?” 

You glared him down as he approaches, your skin crawls at Ser Meryn’s crooked smile; as if he was defiling you with his eyes alone. “I don’t know _Your Grace_.” It pained you to address him as such. He was no king. He was a coward. 

“You know what your usurper brother did?” Joffrey is mere inches in front of you. If you were quick enough maybe you could wrap your hands around his throat and strangle him before his guards swooped on you. 

How would you know? You were not permitted any ravens. 

“He took my Uncle Jaime prisoner. My uncle’s fault of course for being weak enough to be captured. But my mother is very upset by the fact and since he’s your twin I feel like you should share some of his blame and be held responsible as well.” 

The Lannisters seemed to be having lots of trouble being taken captive by your family. First Tyrion by your mother and now Ser Jaime by Robb. You would love to hear that story. You would’ve just loved to hear Robb’s voice. 

Before you knew it one of the guards had taken out your legs as you fall to the ground, face first. You hadn’t even had the chance to try and stop the fall or even to soften it. Flattening your hand on the ground you try and push yourself up but a foot on your back presses you down. Unlike Sansa, Joffrey didn’t care if they left marks on your face. 

“Maybe I should give you to Ser Meryn here and tell your brother of the whore you are.” 

_As long as you leave Sansa alone you cunt. Don’t you dare touch my sister._

A kick to your ribs sends you onto your sides, your head still pounding from landing harshly on the ground that it sent spots of light blinding you. Another foot rams into your stomach repeatedly and you have to stop yourself from gasping. No matter how hard they beat you you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying. You were a Stark, a direwolf. 

“What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?!” 

Joffrey frowns. “Mind your business dwarf. I’m the king and I will punish this traitor’s daughter as I see fit. Her usurper brother has Uncle Jaime and she is to be held responsible for his actions seeing as they’re twins.” 

You feel something trickle down your face and you’re not sure if it’s sweat or blood as well as the swelling of your eye from where a stray boot had hit your face. It obscured your vision somewhat but you could still make out the diminutive stature of Tyrion Lannister and the taller one of hiss sellsword Bronn. 

Unafraid of his rotten nephew, he steps between your crumpled form and that of Ser Meryn’s. Bronn had knelt down beside you to help you up. 

“She is a lady of House Stark and should be treated as such.” Tyrion hisses. 

“And I am king of all of Westeros. That outranks a mere lady of some northern house.” 

“Oh? Would the king like his mother to find out?” 

That had Joffrey pursing his lips in contempt. Even though he was king his mother still held some control as Queen Regent. 

You tried pushing Bronn away and stand on your own feet. Head buzzing, your body tilts unsteadily as Bronn scoops you into his arms. “L-Let me walk. . .” 

“Tough little lady, aren’t you?” He chuckles but it’s not out of malice. You had amused him with your tough front. Hard to act tough when you looked the way you did. You were pretty sure now that it was blood trickling down your face and when you ran your tongue over your bottom lip you felt that it had been split. Bronn uses his sleeve to wipe away some of it so you at least appeared a little bit decent. “A face like yours should never be treated the way it has.” He murmurs softly. It’s the first kind touch you had received from any man in the Keep since your father was killed. You blushed at the sincerity in his voice. 

Finishing up with his sneering nephew, Tyrion lead the way to your room. 

At the sight of you, Sansa loses whatever color she had managed to gain back from when Joffrey forced the two of you to view your father’s severed head on a spike. You see even Shae, your hand maid, bristle at the sight and nearly goes for Bronn’s eyes in a blind fury to get to you until Sansa puts a restraining arm in front of her. She knew that it wasn’t Bronn who did this and Shae did as well. Seeing you in that state was never an easy thing to witness. Bronn gently sets you down in a chair, delicately tilting your face to assess the damage. He had incredible blue eyes, that much you were able to discern with one functioning eye. Shae pushes him away and grabs a cloth and pours some water into a small bowl so that she could properly clean your face. Sansa reaches out for your hand and you gladly take it. She too took a small cloth and turned your hand over to start washing the scrapes you had received on your palm. You honestly didn’t remember when you got those. 

“My lady,” Tyrion begins a bit hesitantly “ I am so sorry-” 

“There’s no need for you to apologize Lord Tyrion.” You interrupt him coolly. “You weren’t the one who ordered Ser Meryn to beat me bloody. Thank your for intervening though. Who knows how long that would have gone on for had it not been for you and Bronn.” 

He didn’t seem all too familiar with people thanking him. It must’ve been something entirely new to him. Someone actually grateful for his presence. “O-Of course. If I may, Lady (y/n). . . How long has he. . .” 

“Since he had our father beheaded.” 

The dwarfed Lannister flinches at how blunt you were. His mismatched eyes swivel to Sansa briefly, asking you through his gaze if Sansa was receiving the same treatment. Stiffly you nod, the exchange going unnoticed by your younger sister. Remembering her manners, Sansa manages to look at Tyrion and thank him for helping you as well although you could tell she was clearly uncomfortable being around any sort of Lannister. 

“I can assure you my ladies that I will have a talk with the King’s mother. Surely she would not abide by such treatment.” He seemed to think twice on his words as it dawned on him what he had said. You wave it off, knowing he meant well and just wanted to comfort you and Sansa. “I’ll leave you in the hands of your maid then. If you ever find yourself in need of my help, please don’t be afraid to call upon me.” 

You offer him a small smile. “Thank you my lord.” 

Once they are gone you inform Sansa what Robb had done. “He could possibly use Jaime to exchange for us. Hopefully. . .” 

“You think he won’t?” 

“Lots of people hate the Lannisters in the north. His bannermen might try to persuade Robb to kill Jaime instead.” Shae helps you change into a clean gown, seeing as the one you were in was torn in several places and dirty. You take note how she hesitates when she sees the ugly bruises all over your body. 

Her eyes flare at the sight. In such a short time, Shae had become incredibly protective of you and Sansa even though it had taken a while for you and your sister to truly trust her. “The next time they try to lay a hand on you you should cut off their shriveled cocks.” She insisted with venom in her words. 

“Then my head would most likely join my father’s.” Not that you didn’t like the idea of cutting off Ser Meryn’s cock, you still had the will to live no matter how many times they eat and humiliated you. You had Sansa to live for if nothing else. 

Shae’s face softens, placing a hand on your battered face. The touch was so tender that it didn’t even hurt your still throbbing face.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


King’s Landing soon found itself in conflict as Stannis Baratheon’s fleet invaded Blackwater Bay and threatened to cross onto land. The women of court were offered sanctuary in Queen Cersei’s quarters as the men fought off the would-be king. Shae stood guard around your sister as she went about trying to calm the other women as best as she could. At that moment she looked very much like your mother. The women clucked about like frightened hens. 

“You’re not scared?” Cersei sits next to you, a glass of wine in her hands that was repeatedly being filled by a servant. She was completely unfazed by the whole affair, even looking somewhat bored. 

You were slightly worried about what would happen if Stannis were to come out victorious. You knew very well that battle and rapes went hand in hand. His soldiers probably wouldn’t know who you or your sister were and if you told them they might not believe you or care. You wouldn’t admit any of your fears to Cersei. “Not at all.” 

“Good. All these crying women are getting on my nerves. Not like that dim sister of your’s either. You’re tough, strong. Maybe you should’ve been the sister to marry Joffrey.” She mutters against the rim of her glass and you could tell she was slightly intoxicated. 

You ignored the quip about you and Joffrey. “Not all women have nerves of steel. These women have been raised in privilege all their lives and have never had to go through something like this. Myself included. But I am the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell. More is expected of me.” 

She laughed. “It’s true what they say about northerners. You all have ice in your veins. Is that why you are able to have such a straight face when death could come barging in at any minute?” 

Green to gray, you stare at her. “Have you no faith in your own son to lead his army to victory?” 

Gaze steady and face straight her nostrils are the only indication to her agitation. “He is a boy-” 

“A boy who should not be king.” Brazenly you interrupt. If there was a prospect that you were to die tonight then you would not die being subservient to Cersei. Direwolves towered over lions. “You know what that brute has done to my sister and I?” 

She sits up straighter, trying to appear taller than you and exude the power of Lannister. “Watch yourself. He is your king. It is. . . unfortunate and a great dishonor that he has his men beat you like a common whore, but there is nothing I can do. He does not listen to me.” 

“Then Westeros is doomed to be thrown into chaos by the hands of that sadistic brat. The least you could do is release my sister and I, or even just release Sansa. Give us back to our family and I’m sure my brother will release Ser Jaime.” You weren’t going to beg for your release. Thinking it was worth a try to at least attempt to convince her. “What use have you of us now?” 

“Your sister is still engaged to Joffrey. You two are worth more than you know.” 

“Find another unfortunate girl. There are plenty others who would want to be queen to that nightmare.” Cersei nearly strikes you but your reflexes were far quicker than hers in her slightly intoxicated state. You moved away from her without another word. If you were to live past this night you would surely pay for all the things you had said. Distant clanging of swords could be heard even within Maegor’s Keep. You caught Sansa’s eyes, wide and revealing how scared she was, just like you were. You control your breathing and rush to your sister’s side all while eying Ilyn Payne who stands vigil. 

“You’re doing a great job trying to keep the peace.” You comment. 

A shaky sigh escapes her. “It doesn’t seem to be helping much. . .” 

“Our situation doesn’t really help matters.” Your hand runs down your thigh until they feel the dagger you have strapped to your thigh underneath your gown. You had Shae get it for you hoping that it would give you a sense of comfort. It didn’t. The thought of having to use it soon twisted your stomach in knots. You had only ever fought with a sword. Daggers required fighting close up. Against a sword you feared that you would not be the victor. At least you had something. It gave you confidence to think about escape. You knew it was crazy, but King’s Landing was in utter chaos and no one would pay you or Sansa any mind. You could slip out and go to Riverrun to see your mom and brother. 

_The wolf is waiting. Watching King’s Landing._

You could practically smell the smoke and blood wafting through the air with a wolf’s nose. Quickly glancing at Cersei to find her busy with another noble woman you grab Sansa’s arm urgently and lean toward her ear. “Lets get out of here.” 

“What?” 

“We need to take this opportunity to escape.” You hiss and try to pull her along but she refuses to move in her confusion. “If we leave now no one will notice.” 

“T-There’s fighting out there. . . What if we get caught in it?” 

“Sansa-” 

Ser Lancel barged into the room, alarming many of the women there at the state he was in as he marches to the queen. Although you couldn’t quite hear what he was telling her you saw her anger rise on her face until she stands up, slamming her hand on Ser Lancel’s wound. He howled in pain and crumbled to the ground. Cersei left without another word causing an uproar from the other women present. You wonder where she had gone off to. The room erupts into disarray and before you could pull Sansa along with you she’s already taking charge to calm them down and even help Ser Lancel. You admired how she took control but time was of the essence. Growling you run to her to whisper in her ear. 

“Meet me in our room in five minutes. Just trust me.” Maybe it was best if you left one at a time. You hated leaving her there, but she had Shae. You bolted to your room and just like you had assumed, no one even bothered to go after you. The halls glowed green from outside and you would’ve loved to stop and look at what was causing the green color but you were running out of time. You flung your door open and immediately went to your trunk, digging through it to find the small purse of money you had. Something was off though. Your spine tingled and the hairs on your neck stood at attention. Someone was in your room. 

You lift up your skirt and grab the dagger. “Show yourself.” 

A dark shadow lifts from your bed and stands in the light cast from your window. 

“Sandor Clegane?” 

“Do you intend to hurt me with that little thing?” His hand rests on the pommel of his much larger weapon as if indicating for you to try. 

Taking slow, measured steps you try to put some distance between the two of you. You didn’t know what his intentions were. He had saved you and Sansa from Joffrey countless times. Surely he didn’t mean you any harm. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be fighting?” 

One of his strides measured three of your’s until you were backed against the door. “I’m done fighting for those cunts. I’m leavin’.” Your fingers clench your purse tighter as he leans closer. “You’re leavin too.” 

“It’s none of your business.” 

“You think you could make it to the gates? All by yourself?” 

“I won’t be by myself.” 

Sandor laughs mockingly at you. “You and your sister wouldn’t make it ten seconds out there. The both of you would be raped bloody. Not if you leave with me though. They wouldn’t dare mess with you with me around.” 

Incredulously you stare at the giant man in front of you. “You want me. . . and Sansa to go with you?” 

“I’m your best chance of gettin out of this shit place. But time is running out. It would be just you. I was expecting both you and the little bird to be here.” 

That was the deal breaker. “I’m not leaving without my sister.” 

As if already figuring that that would be your ultimate decision, Sandor scoffs and pushes you away from the door. “You’re a fool. Any smart person would take my offer and leave.” 

“I love my sister. I’m not leaving her to fend for herself.” 

“Love isn’t gonna do jack shit for you, girl. Love ain’t gonna protect you from anybody.” He turns to leave but you call for him. You throw the purse his way and he catches it with one hand. 

“I’m not going to be needing it.” You whisper and sit on your bed. 

Sandor stares at you for a moment before walking out your door. Perhaps he was right, love wouldn’t do you any good here in King’s Landing. You held the dagger close to you and let your mind plunge into the one you wished you possessed. 

Staring at the green flames consume Blackwater Bay, the wolf waited. 

_Go._ You urged it and it’s head swiveled to look around the it’s surroundings for the source of the voice. _Go without me. Please._

A whine emits but you don’t bother to stay any longer in the body. Who had you been kidding? You weren’t getting out of here. Maybe it was best that Stannis won. You and Sansa wouldn’t have to suffer at the hands of the Lannisters anymore if you were dead. 

“(y/n)?” Sansa whispers. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you Sansa.” 

She frowns. “We’re not leaving?” 

You shake your head. “No. I was foolish for thinking we’d get out of here. . .” 

Sansa sits beside you and hugs you. A while later Ser Dontos comes in, cheering that Stannis had been defeated. Sansa explains to you about how Ser Dontos knows someone who wants to rescue them. That you and her could escape. 

The Lannisters had won. That was all you could take in. You weren’t escaping any time soon.


	3. Part Three

That cunt thought this whole entire thing was a joke. Mouth dry you stare at the horror show playing out. You had tried taking Sansa’s place beside Tyrion Lannister but Joffrey decided it would be more fun to watch if it were your sister. Joffrey was grinning from ear to ear as he gave Sansa away in place of your dead father whom he’d had executed. Their own engagement had been dissolved in favor of marrying him of to Margaery Tyrell, a sweet enough girl whom Sansa had developed some sort of friendship with. Yet you couldn’t trust her so easily; she was marrying Joffrey after all. However, she and her grandmother had spoken to you and your sister of the prospect of getting the both of you out of King’s Landing and possibly marrying your sister or yourself to Willas, Margaery’s older brother. You would’ve willingly married anyone in order to get out of there. But the Lannisters had caught the scent somehow and acted quickly, marrying Sansa off to Lord Tyrion. You didn’t know how far the Tyrell’s generosity went, but you were pretty sure that they couldn’t and wouldn’t smuggle you and Sansa out now. 

Northerners were said to have ice in their veins, but all of the ice had melted and now coarsed fire that scorched every vessel in your body. The wolf in you lifted it’s head and snarled. You knew none of this was Tyrion’s fault, he was the only good Lannister in the bloody city and didn’t want the marriage either. This was solely Joffrey Baratheon’s doing. Tyrion was a good man who had protected you when Joffrey sent his guards to beat you. He had showed you and Sansa nothing but kindness and you hoped that he would continue to show her kindness. If the dwarf even dared to take Sansa against her will then you would rip him to shreds along with Joffrey and the whole bloody Keep. 

The septon continued to drone on about the Seven blessing this union nearly making you gag. 

When everyone gathered for the feast you pulled aside an already inebriated Tyrion. The scars he had received from the Battle of Blackwater Bay did nothing to scare you away. “We must talk, brother.” You snarled the last part out. 

“Do we now, sister?” His voice laced with sarcasm and an air of indifference that he always had. It nearly seemed condescending in a way and you had to restrain yourself from grabbing him by his hair and bashing his head against the wall. You were in no mood either to be putting up with his attitude. “And what might that be about? How I am supposed to fuck your sister tonight? It is expected of me, of course. Otherwise or marriage would not be consummated. Then what grounds would I have to call Sansa my wife?” 

“If you dare take her against her will-” 

“Yes I daresay you would come for my head.” He tosses back the rest of his drink. Tyrion moves to waddle away from you. “Your love for your sister is truly endearing and commendable, but there are things that are simply out of your control. Out of any of our control.” 

You could threaten him, tell him that you would kill him if he dared to hurt your sister. But you knew that he didn’t want this. He had been screwed over by your family just like you and Sansa had. So you fumed and started to toss back drinks as well. You had promised your father that you would always protect your younger sisters. You hadn’t been doing such a good job of it. With Arya gone, gods know where she was, Sansa was the only one left in your charge and you could do nothing but watch her marry Tyrion. You could do nothing in stopping the bedding. You felt utterly helpless and not for the first time either. Ever since your father had died you had been feeling completely helpless, a feeling you had never really experienced before. Back home you had always felt strong and secure. There had been nothing to worry about except for your mother’s disapproval of you sword fighting. Even loving Jon the way you did you never really feared anyone finding out. You never worried about how wrong it was. You had been loved and safe in Winterfell. Now though. . . You were in the lion’s den. 

Head light and swimming, you have a serving girl pour more wine into your glass as you sway slightly on your feet. You knew Sansa was staring at you with worry, that was the last thing you wanted her to feel She had enough to worry about. So you shot her a dumb smile as you staggered on your feet to where she sat with a moody Tyrion. 

“Sweet Sansa!” You chirp and kiss her cheek. 

She recoils slightly and looks at you. “You’ve been drinking.” 

“It’s a party. Everyone’s drinking.” You explain and motion toward her husband. 

“See? Even the groom is drinking. It’s the only way to bloody cope with this travesty of a marriage. I wonder who was the one who spilled the beans on Olenna’s plan-” 

Her hand clamps over your mouth. “You’re drunk (y/n). Lets get you to your room.” She starts to stand to help you but at that moment Joffrey announces that it’s time for the bedding. Sansa bristles at that and you suddenly sober up. Fingers digging into her arm you refuse to let her go. They would have to pry her from your dead hands. Luckily it was Tyrion who refused the traditional bedding ceremony and Joffrey, being the utter cunt that he was, wouldn’t take no for an answer. The sound of a knife being driven into the table seemed so deafening despite others talking. 

“Then you’ll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock.” Tyrion growls, his stunted fingers gripping the handle of the knife in a death grip. You felt Sansa cling to you slightly but you came to the realization, even if his family wanted him to consummate the marriage, Tyrion wouldn’t. No matter what he had said to you that might’ve made you think he was just as wicked as the rest of the Lannisters, he was a good person. He was chivalrous in his own way and wanted to protect your sister’s virtue as much as you did. That threat obviously didn’t go well with the bratty king as the room grew eerily quiet. Lord Tywin Lannister was the one to soothe the tempers between uncle and nephew. In a drunken stupor, Tyrion begins to ramble nonsensically and pull Sansa away. She kept looking back at you and you’re about to chase after them until someone jerks you back. 

“Best not follow them.” Bronn tells you. 

“I just need to make sure she’s safe.” You slur and harshly rip your arm out of his grip. “Even if he’s her husband now I still won’t abide by anyone, even him, hurting her. I’ll rip his tiny cock off myself.” 

He chuckles and helps to steady you despite you trying to swat him away. “You boast a lot for a woman. A drunk woman at that.” 

Snarling you look up at him. “I’ll rip your cock off too.” That only makes him laugh louder as he cups your elbow and leaves the wedding reception with you and into the dark corridors. 

“I don’t doubt you touching my cock would be too unpleasant Lady Stark.” 

Despite yourself you remember the first time you saw Jon’s cock and how hot it was in your palm as you had wrapped your hands around it. You could still hear him moaning and remember the way he tilted his head back. Tears made your eyes burn as you thought about him. 

“I’ll never see his cock again.” 

Bronn looks at you oddly, not understanding your drunk slurring. “Who’s cock?” 

Sniffling you don’t even realize how close you are to Bronn, your side pressed firmly against his as he still maintains his hold on your arm to prevent you from falling. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone and I’m here. Who knows who those terrible Lannister cunts will marry me off to.” 

“You curse a lot for a lady.” 

“Whatever.” You nearly trip a few times but thanks to Bronn you fail to eat shit until the two of you are stumbling into your room. You room felt so empty without Sansa. “Pour me another drink.” 

Shaking his head, he takes the bottle of wine that you had had in your room despite your complaints. “You’ve had plenty enough to drink, m’lady.” 

Your heart panics slightly when your fuzzy gaze manage to follow him walking to your door. “Don’t go yet!” 

Bronn pauses and glances at you. The way his eyes rove over your body as your cheeks slightly tint with a pink heat. You knew that look. You had received many a looks like that from Jon. Bronn was attracted to you. Admittedly you were a little attracted to him as well. He had the bluest eyes you had ever seen and was oddly handsome in his own rugged way. In your drunken state your attraction intensified and your body was suddenly reminding you how long it had been since you had last had relations with someone. Jon was at the Wall and you would possibly never see him again. 

“Now I know you’re drunk if you truly want my company.” He chuckles to himself but sits next to you on your bed. Popping the cork out and putting the spout of the bottle to his lips, Bronn takes a big swig. “So, a lady like you has seen a cock, has she?” 

“Pft, I’ve done more than see a cock.” Your hands reach out for the bottle but Bronn keeps it out of your grasp until you’re practically on his lap trying to reach it. “Gimme that! That’s mine!” 

“You’ve had enough.” He truly enjoys seeing you struggle. 

Pouting you glare at him. If you couldn’t have anymore wine then you’d simply have to have something else. You shock him when you pounce onto him and kiss him. 

Completely stunned he doesn’t move for a few minutes but when he does his hands are on your hips, running up and down your thighs. You rub yourself against him like a cat in heat. You wanted something to fill you up. You wanted something to distract you from all of the horrible things that had happened to you and your family. Most of all you needed a replacement for Jon. You knew you could never have him again. You had accepted that long ago. It pained you because you did love Jon, more than you loved yourself. 

But Jon was gone. 

When you pull away, Bronn is panting beneath you appearing utterly mystified by you. Your heart clenched remembering how Jon looked at you like that. 

_No. Stop thinking about him. He’s gone. You need to move on. He’s your brother anyway. It was never supposed to have happened._

“Weren’t expecting that, were you?” You smirk and continue to straddle him, pulling the hem of your skirt up slightly to better move your legs around him. 

He grins. “You’re not as innocent as a thought.” 

You hum, rolling yourself against his hard-on and take pleasure in the way he hisses. You wonder if he’s ever had sex with a lady before. 

You would never know. You blacked out.   
  
  
  
  
  


“Stop laughing at me.” You groan and hold your head in your hands. 

“Imagine my disappointment. Here I thought I was going to have a rut with a beautiful lady like you. Then you pass out right on top of me. Normally that doesn’t happen until after I’ve made a woman cum.” His laughter is loud, nearly barking and making your head hurt even more. When your maids had entered that morning they were shocked to find you and the sellsword in bed together. Surely gossip fodder to give to Cersei. You didn’t care though. You and Bronn both knew that nothing had happened. You had been too drunk to even fuck him. 

Glaring at him you push away the food that your women had brought you. Everything made you feel sick. From the sun streaming in to the food in front of you. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” 

He gives you a toothy grin and takes your food for himself. “Suppose I could go down to Baelish’s brothel considering I got no action last night. Unless. . .” 

“Ugh, I can’t even keep my eyes open. Go and take your pleasure from whores. Can’t offer you much in my poor state.” Waving him off with your hand he leaves your room, laughing the entire way out that you hear it echo from down the hall. You could barely remember what had gone on last night. It was all blurry but it was clear that you had invited him to your room. You were slightly embarrassed about how you must’ve acted around him. A lady shouldn’t act like that. Even though your father was no longer alive didn’t mean you could act so out of control. He would’ve been incredibly disappointed in the way you had behaved. What would everyone say about your family? Anger broiled in your stomach imagining that smug smirk that Cersei must have when the servants told her that Bronn had been in your room that morning. Your fingers curled inward and dug your nails into your soft palm. The Starks would always be more noble than any Lannister. A voice in the back of your aching head reminded you though that you weren’t much different from Cersei. Of course you had heard of the rumor spread by Stannis Baratheon, about how Cersei and Jaime were in an incestuous relationship and that her children were actually Jaime’s, not Robert Baratheon’s. It made you feel even more sick. You had had sex with Jon, your brother. Even though he was your half brother, he was still your brother nonetheless. It wasn’t as bad as having sex with your twin brother; which Cersei had done. You grimace at the thought of even touching Robb like that. Still though, it didn’t change the fact that you had made love to Jon. What would happen if anyone were to find out? At least you had been smart enough to learn how to make moon tea. 

Bile rose in your throat, burning with acidity as you frantically leaned over to throw up on the ground. You wretched and emptied your stomach as someone knocked on your door. Sluggishly you sit up and wipe your mouth, staring at the mess you had made on the ground. You felt slightly better but still probably looked like a mess. “Who is it?” 

“Your sister.” 

Immediately you were up, which was a bad call considering how your head and stomach protested against such a rapid action. “Come in.” 

Sansa’s gaze seemed to instantly fall upon your mess on the ground. “You drank too much last night.” 

You groan. “Yes I know. I’m so sorry for my behavior Sansa. I promise it won’t happen again.” 

“No, it’s okay.” She tries to assure you as Shae goes to clean up the floor. 

Shaking your head you sit back down in your chair. “It’s not. I can’t imagine what father would’ve said. Oh, mother would be outright furious.” 

Her cool hand was welcomingly as it felt your forehead. “That had been the first time you had let your wall down. You’ve been so stressed lately. I’m happy that you let loose at least a little bit. Really I am.” 

“I should’ve been at least conscious enough to protect you. Did he. . .” You didn’t want to say it, didn’t even want to finish your sentence. 

Face flushing she shakes her head. “No. He didn’t. He respected me and told me that he wouldn’t touch me unless I wanted him to.” 

You let out a relieved sigh. “Thank the gods for Tyrion Lannister.” The weight that had been pulling you down suddenly seemed to vanish. You embraced her and tried to hold that feeling of relief. Who knew what travesty would arise.   
  
  
  


“(y/n)? What’s wrong?” 

You couldn’t breathe. No matter how much you tried it felt like air wasn’t entering you. You couldn’t explain the feeling you were experiencing. What was it? Fear? You clutched your stomach and frantically looked around you; a darkness was swallowing you whole. It wasn’t the feeling that you usually had when you were linked to the wolf. You hadn’t gone into it’s mind for a while now. This was a completely different thing and it scared you. 

It scared Sansa and Margaery too as they continued to ask what was wrong. Their voices were muffled though. Their lips moved but no sound came out. Your heart raced as you gasped out. You felt like you were dying. Before you fainted you finally heard Margaery yell out for help.   
  


You were in the forest again. For sure in a wolf’s body. Feeling strong again you didn’t even know what fear felt like as you weaved between trees and stopped at a large river. There was something in the air that you didn’t like. It smelled of death. The wolf lifted it’s head and inhaled. It too then felt a sense of pain. Not physical; there wasn’t much that would be able to physically hurt it. It was emotional. The kind of pain you felt at the loss of a loved one. From the smell in the air and the ominous sensation that gripped it so hard, it thought of a litter mate; a brother to be exact. A brother that was no longer on the earth. It lifted it’s head and howled forlornly.   
  
  
  


You woke up crying. From the wolf vision you had you knew something was wrong. From the feeling you had experienced you knew that something bad had happened to Robb. Call it a twin’s intuition if you may. Something had definitely happened to him. Something very bad. 

It was only confirmed by a swollen eyed Sansa. “(y/n).” She croaks. 

“He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s gone.” 

Tears trickled down her cheek as she curls next to you in your bed and held you. In pain you screamed in utter anguish and clung to her desperately. 

You were to learn that not only had Robb perished, but your mother as well. 

At the hands of the Freys and Lannisters.   
  
*   
  


It had been days since the news of your brother and mother’s death, days of being completely hopeless and catatonic. You didn’t leave your room for anything and hardly ate. You didn’t want to live anymore. Once or twice you had opened your window and contemplated on jumping out of it. Sansa would be the one to bring you back to the world. You had to think of her. But you were tired. 

The days went by you unnoticed and if not for Shae you wouldn’t have known that the wedding of Joffrey and Margaery would be in two days. Not that you or Sansa wanted to celebrate anything. 

Shae was in your room now picking out outfits for you and your sister. Sansa sat on a chair watching her as she flitted about the room, the only source of life. You were in your usual spot that was now the only world you knew: your bed. 

“This is a beautiful gown. It should do fine for the wedding.” Shae comments. She kept up small talk with Sansa who had been faring a bit better these days but was still melancholy. She still went out at night to the godswood to meet up with Ser Dontos and talk about escaping. Sansa had tried once or twice to get you to go with her if only to get you some fresh air. It went in one ear and out the other. As much as you wanted to be there for her the death of your twin was a devastating blow to you. You loved Sansa and knew you should try to live for her, for the thought of getting out. You just wanted to die though. Sansa sang to you when she felt well enough for it and spoke to you of times back in Winterfell. Anything to try and lift your spirits as you had done for her after the execution of your father. But this was worse. The other half of you was gone. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to him; to tell him how much you loved him. You had heard the hushed voices of the servants in the halls as they passed by, recalling the events of the Red Wedding. How after your brother’s throat was slit by Roose Bolton, Robb’s head had been taken off his shoulders and the severed head of Grey Wind was sewn as a replacement. You had nightmares about what it must’ve looked like. Your brother’s body with his direwolf’s head wearing a crown. 

Sansa tries to coax you from your bed the day of the wedding. You had missed that morning’s presentation of the wedding gifts. Joffrey had raised a fit that you were absent. From what Sansa had told you he had demanded that the guards drag you from your room. It was Margaery who coaxed him into leaving you be. You’d have to thank her. That is if you could still talk. You hadn’t spoken a word in quite a while. “At least to wash your face. They’re expecting us. I don’t want to go either, but we have to. I don’t want him to get violent with you.” 

You knew she was right which was why you had shakily sat up. Incredibly weak from not moving from your bed you got tired very quickly from even that small of an effort. Shae looked at you with pitiful eyes as she helps you get out of bed. You stumble and nearly fall over but you manage to force your trembling legs to support you. Already dressed in her finest gown and with her magnificent auburn hair beautifully styled, Sansa assists you in washing up and once you were dried and ready Shae brushed your knotted hair. Finally the slipped you into your gown, Sansa staring at your malnourished body. You were tired. So tired and exhausted as Sansa leant you her arm for support. When Tyrion and Bronn arrived the escorted you to the litters that would transport you to the Sept of Baelor. Everyone stared at you as you made your way to the litter as you breathed heavily, trying to keep steady and not fall. When they opened the door it was Bronn who lifted you up inside the carriage. 

You stared vacantly at the seven pointed star in the Sept, the ceremony completely flying by without you really paying attention. Neither the old gods or the new had answered your prayers. They hadn’t saved your family. They had done nothing for you. 

Sansa held your hand, indicating that the ceremony was over and bringing you back from your bleak thoughts. Everything was a complete blur as you suddenly found yourself in the throne room which was extravagantly decorated for that very occasion. Time was passing you by and you weren’t even aware of it. You just wanted to go back into your room and rot away in there. 

“I haven’t had the time to tell you two how sorry I am to hear about your brother and mother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding. . .” Olenna Tyrell shakes her head and looks over at you as she caresses Sansa’s cheek. Her eyes weren’t pitiful like so many others. She didn’t look at you, sho looked right into you. To the you that you thought had died when Robb did. “What kind of monster would do that?” She didn’t mention about how terrible you probably looked. Instead she addresses Tyrion as he sits next to your sister and pours himself a glass of wine. She talks about how you and Sansa should go and visit High Garden after the wedding, that Tyrion could afford that at least. You slumped in your seat and stare at your plate. Your stomach complained but your heart just couldn’t cooperate. You didn’t remember the last meal you had had. 

You noticed Sansa’s hand holding a fork and stabbing it into a piece of meat that was on your plate. She holds it up to your lips imploringly. “At least just a bite. Please.” You did, for her. Your stomach instantly lit up with fiery hunger once you allowed the morsel to pass by your lips. After a few more pieces that your sister fed you, you ate on your own after realizing how famished you were. Even Tyrion poured some wine for you, claiming that it would make you feel better. You eyed it, not wanting the repeat of last time. Still you took a sip. It would be a shame to waste fine wine. You watched various musicians droll on in playing the Rains of Castamere. Joffrey had grown just as weary of the song as he shooed off the last performer and brought to the stage his own entertainment that involved several dwarves. Your stomach sank though when you realized one of them was dressed to resemble your brother. The food you had managed to eat suddenly felt like it was coming back up. They were reenacting the War of the Five Kings. You couldn’t help but stare at the atrocity as the dwarf who was dressed to look like Joffrey started humping a wolf’s head. Sansa’s hand was immediately on top of your’s in a death grip that had her knuckles turning white. You closed your eyes and focused on the pressure of her hand on your’s. A dull ache in your chest had you releasing a shaky breath. You were fully awake now. And you were consumed with rage. You turned hateful eyes at the boy king who now insisted that his Uncle Tyrion fight against one of the dwarfs. Of course Tyrion declined, upsetting Joffrey to the point that he left Margaery’s side to pour the remnants of his wine on top of Tyrion’s head. A few drops landed on your sister. Everyone is silent at the exchange, especially so when Tyrion is forced to be Joffrey’s cup bearer. Even after Joffrey and Margaery cut their pigeon pie he saw fit to humiliate Tyrion even more. Your sister had been helping you up as the three of you prepared to leave until Joffrey demanded Tyrion pour him wine. You would’ve loved to have enough energy to spit in his wine. Something much better happened though. Joffrey started coughing violently. He was choking. Hysteria broke out as people tried to help him as he clawed at his throat; face turning a garish purple hue. You couldn’t watch though. Ser Dontos, with his fool’s hat on, was tugging at you and Sansa to follow him. 

You were panting heavily by the time you reached Blackwater Bay. You couldn’t even spare a moment to catch your breath as Dontos urged you and Sansa into a rowboat. In thick fog you make out a rather sizeable ship. Ser Dontos rows up to it’s side and has you and you sister climb up its side. Sansa has you go first to reassure that if you grew weary she would urge you on. Once you reached the top someone grabbed you and hoisted you on deck. You gasp and immediately do your best to push whoever it was away from you. Even in the dark you knew that scheming face. 

“Lord Baelish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part of this series will be dealing with the Boltons.

**Author's Note:**

> This mini-story won't cover the rest of the Game of Thrones timeline, instead it will just cover probably up until possibly the Purple Wedding. I'll be making other parts for the remainder of the story until I come up with a way to end it.


End file.
